


Adulation

by Newtavore



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Amporacest, Blow Jobs, Collars, Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, why am i writing porn at 6:00am, why did i think i could actually write porn, why did i think this was a good idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtavore/pseuds/Newtavore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Making him feel good makes you feel good, so when you get the opportunity, you do your best to make him feel as good as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adulation

**Author's Note:**

> i should not be awake much less writing porn but guess what i am and i did so here have some 6:00am porn this is a great idea self
> 
> i just wanted dualeri that wasn't noncon/dubcon/slightlyickyuncomfortable but i couldn't really find any so i decided to write it for myself 
> 
> go me
> 
> fulfilling my dreams

"Kneel."

 

You fall to your knees in front of his polished boots, bowing your head forward to rest on the floor at his feet, the ultimate posture of submission. He hums, pleased, and you shiver in delight. You like having pleased him. It only means good things for the both of you.

 

"Sit up."

 

You obey. Your new position leaves your head at waist height, and he wraps a hand around one of your horns, stroking slowly.

 

"You know what I want."

 

You do. You raise your hands and rest them on his hips, allowing the grip on your horn to tug you forward, until your face is pressed against the tent of his pants. You tongue curls around the squirming bulge through the fabric, and he hisses something incomprehensible at you, hand tightening in response.

 

He's impatient, you know he is, he always is, and it makes it so much better to tease him, to make him unravel even though you're the one wearing the collar, on your knees.

 

You unbuckle his heavy belt and unfasten the tiny gold buttons of his breeches, biting your lip to hide your grin as you're almost smacked in the face by his bulge. You control yourself, though, limiting your teasing to kittenish licks all over the slick surface, cleaning it of the accumulated pre material. You couldn't help yourself; he tasted so good, _delicious_ even, like saltwater, like the ocean.

 

"Come on now," he chides, tapping the side of your face with a finger, "Open up."

 

You obey, opening your mouth wide and accepting the limb inside, careful of your teeth. It wriggles down your throat, thrusting at a slow, lazy pace, quite the opposite of what you were expecting. He guides your head gently with his grip on your horn, and you relax and let him move you, use you as he pleases.

 

You're at your best when you're pleasing him.

 

"Good boy," he croons, and you whimper around your mouthful, hips twitching in response to the praise. You love it when he tells you so, in that tone of voice; deep, husky, filled with lust and desire and caused by _you_. _You're_ the one who does this to him, drives him mad like this, it's _you_.

 

He slides in a bit deeper, and you reflexively swallow, trying not to gag. You haven't been able to take his whole bulge into your mouth, not yet, but he seems to be urging you to go further than you'd achieved yet. He pushes your head down a bit more, thrusts in a bit deeper, and it's all you can handle. You choke a bit, but fall into a rhythm easily enough, and he sings you praises in that lustful voice, moving his other hand to your hair.

 

"Such a good boy, Eridan," he groans, running his thumbs over the base of your horns, "God, look a'you. You can take so much now, look a'that, you're doin' so well, darlin'…"

 

You moan around his bulge and slide the hand you aren't using to hold his hips into your own pants, bypassing your own bulge completely to thrust two fingers directly into your nook. You're already dripping, viscous purple fluids coating your thighs and the material of your jeans, and your fingers feel so good inside of you that you can't stop another whimper from escaping.

 

Making him feel good makes you feel good.

 

He thrusts forward a bit too hard and you gag, throat convulsing around him. He tries to pull away, but you grip his hip with your unoccupied hand hard and keep him still, focusing on breathing through your nose and swallowing. He arrests his motions, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping still, but you're grateful for his consideration and slide a few more centimeters into your throat with no problems, caressing the underside of his bulge with your tongue.

 

"Stoplight?" he asks, brushing your hair away from your face.

 

You moan in response and pry your hand away from his hip, holding up one finger. Green.

 

"Good boy," he murmurs, and starts to move again, shallow twitches of his hips, barely a motion at all yet still somehow almost overwhelming. You've never taken this much of him into your mouth before, and for a moment, you almost think it's too much, almost flash a three, but you force yourself to relax and find it easier than you thought.

 

He's still petting your hair, rubbing the base of one of your horns with his fingers, crooning endearments and encouragements to you and you caress his shaft as it glides across your tongue, prompting a sharper buck of his hips. Your fingers are working your nook again, two, then three, and you whine as he grabs your horn tighter and starts thrusting in earnest.

 

You're riding your hand and mewling around the length in your mouth as he mutters praises, bend forward, scarred face contorted in pleasure and concentration. He's trying so hard not to push you too far, not to hurt you, and that just makes it even better, because he cares what _you_ feel, he wants you to enjoy this just as much as he does, and it's something you can say you never got, before him.

 

"You're so beautiful with my bulge in your mouth," he sighs, "So beautiful on your knees for me, ridin' your own fingers like a trained whore, so fuckin' beautiful like this, god, Eridan, you're doin' so well, look a'you, already takin' so much more than y'did last time, you're so perfect, god, yes-"

 

He always gets so chatty when he's close, but you don't mind, because the things he says make your heart beat faster in your chest and your nook leak pre material everywhere. You love it when he says those things about you, when he curls around you and loses himself and showers you in adulations until he comes; it makes you feel good that he feels good.

 

"Fuck- fuck you're wonderful- Erida- Eridan-"

 

His hands tighten on your horns, the strength of the grip almost painful, and he thrusts forwards once, twice, then unloads down your throat. You try to keep up with the flood of material, but you can only swallow about half of it down. The rest leaks out of the corners of your mouth and down your front, staining you and your clothes with purple.

 

He pulls out slowly, and you lick up his length until he's gone, out of your mouth with an obscene sounding pop that goes straight to your nook.

 

"Stoplight?"

 

"G-green," you stutter.

 

You sound wrecked, voice raspy and breathless, just on this side of frantic. He drops to his knees in front of you and pulls you in for a kiss, washing his own material from your face with his tongue, and it makes you shiver, keen, and thrust your fingers sharply into yourself.

 

"Good boy," he croons, one hand tracing the gills on your ribs and the other burying itself in your pants, "Do you want me t' take care a'you, darlin'?"

 

"Yes," you whimper, desperately rolling your hips. His hand wraps around your own, gently sliding your fingers from you and you whine deep in your throat because that is the _exact opposite direction_ you want to be going in. He soothes you with a kiss and a quiet laugh, licking your jaw and nibbling an ear fin as he slides his longer, thicker fingers inside of your nook.

 

He feels so good. He's murmuring into your ear between licks and bites, praise falling from his lips as he impales you on two of his fingers at the same time he slips his claws into your gill slits.

 

You can't bite back your keening, hands flying to his shoulders to ground you. You might have dug your claws in, but you can't tell; everything is a haze of pleasure, and you're unable to tell up from down, left from right, unable to focus on anything except the sensations he pulls from your body and the words he growls into your ear.

 

"So fuckin' beautiful, god, Eridan, you're so fuckin' perfect," he hisses, touch and words gentle despite his rough tone, "If only you could see yourself… We'll get a mirror in here, so you can watch, next time, see how fuckin' gorgeous you are, spread out like this, you're such a mess, look a'you, you're so wet… So good, you feel so good…"

 

You pant and trill and shiver, and you let your eyes fall shut as he slides another finger into you. You love this, love riding his fingers almost as much as you love riding his bulge, love hearing him say those things about you…

 

"Come on, Eridan, come for me, darlin'."

 

You do, coming with a high, gasping cry you'd be embarrassed about under any other circumstance, but not here, not with him, not when he groans with you and carries you through the aftershocks of your orgasm with gentle words and slow, soft thrusts of his fingers, until you've come apart in his hands and lie shaking against him, tears streaming down your face from the force of your pleasure.

 

"Good boy," he says, pulling out and away and shushing your quiet whimper with a kiss to the forehead, "You were such a good boy, Eridan."

 

You sigh and let him move you around like a rag doll, cleaning you up and wrapping you in new, clean clothing. He tucks you into bed and leaves, returning minutes later with a bottle of water and an energy bar. He feeds you, and you eat from his hand between sips of water, purring loudly all the while. He continues his litany of praises and you think you could live like this forever, basking in his adoration and attention.

 

"You did very well," he says, pressing kisses to your lips, your cheeks, you forehead, rubbing his marked face against yours, crooning softly and lavishing you with affection. He traces the rim of the purple collar around your neck, and you lean into the touch, the reminder that you're his, that he wants you, with a sigh.

 

"Thank you," you respond, nuzzling into his hands, purring when he curls around you under the covers and holds you against his broad chest, nearly enveloping your still-shaking body with his own and.

 

He _cares_ for you, and that makes this better than anything else you've ever experienced.

**Author's Note:**

> a haha you read the whole thing you deserve a trophy
> 
> rereading this i know it makes no sense for trolls to know about the stoplight system but i can't be fucked to think up an alternian counterpart and this kind of shit without a safeword/system in place is like, my one instant turn off so hove some illogical safe/sane/consensual trolls 
> 
> also could you tell i had no clue how to end this because i had no clue how to end this


End file.
